


The Burden Of Wrath

by GGZeeZii



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21579760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GGZeeZii/pseuds/GGZeeZii
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge & Joseph Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Kudos: 40





	1. Mourning

I stare off across the landscape at the pile of rubble that used to hold Joseph’s likeness. I did it. I saved the day. 

Faith’s dried blood is still under my nails and in the creases of my hands. I close my eyes and still see her standing there. Her humming is the white noise that I hear in the silence every night. I can still feel her hand in mine when she held it slightly longer than she needed to. That one moment where she held me and it all floated away. The times where she stole me away from all the killing just so she could tell me that there was another way. But it was all a lie. I did the right thing. I helped people. I saved people.

So, why do I feel like the villian? What if she was just a victim? What if she was just another product of Joseph? Was she innocent? How many people have I killed that could have been deprogrammed or talked down? If I could redo it... If she had given me an option... If she had asked me to come with her instead of leaving me alone in the flowers. If he had. The whole vision, or hallucination, or whatever it was. I hated it. I hated how sure she sounded. I hated how much sense he made. I hate how the Bliss still makes me feel so unsure even this far away from any flowers. It’s the Bliss, it has to be. It does things to you. It lies.

The Marshall… He told me he didn’t want to leave but I dragged him out. He wasn’t well. She told me to leave him alone and I didn't. It’s my fault they got into the prison. It’s my fault so many people died. Henbane River might as well be running with the blood of everyone I’ve killed. And yet, I haven’t even been to Jacob’s mountains and I’m too terrified to go back and face John.

Dutch calls once a day to tell me how bad it’s gotten in the valley. John is ripping through outposts and people to try and find me. He’s taken back his house and Fall’s End is barely holding on through his attacks. They need me to fight. They need me to kill. I haven’t responded. I left Holland Valley, I left Falls End, I left Hudson. I abandoned them all.

In the end, you’ll still be empty.

The shaking is fading. All the adrenalin it took to escape Faith’s fucked up bunker has left me drained. I take off my parachute and set it next to me. The hole in my heart, the pit in my stomach, they just get worse. It just hurts. I fight and I kill and rip myself to pieces to try to prove John wrong, but he‘s right. I’ve done so much but I’m still empty. I’m still wrath.

“You there Rook?” My radio crackles to life, pulling me from my mind and back to the cliffs edge where I’ve been standing. 

It’s Dutch. 

“Listen, I can tell you’ve been going through some tough shit. Hell, we all have. But we need you pretty bad right now. Eli up in the Whitetails needs you.”

I don’t answer and look back down at the sheer drop. It’s just one step. I kick a rock over the edge and watch it fall. Sharky and Grace went for drinks at the Spread Eagle. I can’t join them. I can’t walk back into the Valley.

The radio crackles and cuts the silence again, “My niece is up there. I haven't heard from her in a bit. If you get a chance, see if you can find her for me. Let me know shes ok.”

My jaw trembles and I begin to cry. He knew just what to say. I have to go. I have to help. People need me.

I take a step back and grab my parachute. I almost wipe away the evidence of my breakdown but, seeing the blood on my hands, I think better of it. I’ll just check in with the whitetails. I’m not too far from the park’s ranger station. I’ll start there and… then what? Lighten my ammo supply? Turn the region into enough of a war zone that everyone knows where I am? Draw them to me? It was fun when I first started. I was The Deputy who had all of Holland Valley wrapped around her finger. Blowing a kiss goodbye to the silos as I pressed the detonator. Grinning at every radio call John sent out and how his voice got steadily more frustrated. It became a game of what can I do to get his attention? It was fun. Even fighting him at the baptism was fun. I yelled and bit at him and struggled hard enough that I almost took him under with me before Joseph’s voice stopped us both. Like the parent we both feared raising his voice in warning. He stopped me. He stopped my fighting. He did the same when Faith brought me to him. The way he talked and the things he said. He seemed so sure. It was frightening how he could keep me still with a look. I just want to feel that way again. 

Maybe they’ll be well armed. Maybe they won’t need me. Maybe I can finally sleep a full night without the nightmares. Maybe for one day I won’t be wrath. 

“There she is!” I duck behind the nearest car, reflex taking over more than fear. I know what happens when i’m spotted and I’m not surprised or disappointed when the gunshot follows. The rifle manifests itself into my hards. I hardly moved a muscle to grab it or to set it on the hood of the car and stare down the sights at the cultists ducking his way between concrete blackades to get closer. There’s just one and I’ve got him in my sights. 

Deep breath in. 

Hold.

There he is. Slow exhale. Feel the trigger. 

“It’s gonna be worse if you make me find you!”

My hands are shaking. I cant get a stable bead on him. Try again. Line it up. Deep breath in. Hold it. He’s getting closer. 

“Fuck,” I crouch back down and wipe away my sweat with pale hands. I need to get out of here. The barrel of a gun comes into my peripherals and I grab a pipe from the ground. Metal on metal rings out as I come crashing down on him, knocking the gun out of his hands and successfully disarming him. The pipe comes back around and knocks him in the chest. It could have been the head. It probably should have been. I shake the questions out of my head. Don’t think, just act. He’s stumbling trying to get up but my boot settles on his back, pushing him back down onto the road.

“You’ve led a lot of scared innocent people at gunpoint, haven't you?” I ask, pressure on his spine increasing. I toss the pipe far away from us and pull my pistol again. At the first pain stricken noise he makes, I let up and kick him over with the toe of my boot, “Sit up.”

He does, slowly, leaning forward with his face set in a snarl, “They may have been scared and not understood, but we lead them to their salvation.”

“Huh, well, now you’ll get the same honor you gave them. Stand up. We’re going for a walk up the hill.”

“You’ll have to kill me.”

I shrug at his suggestion, “I could shoot you in a lot of places before you’d die.”

“You’re the devil.”

“Maybe,” the pistol in my hand flicks in the direction of the woods. “Lets move, Peggy.”

A part of me wants to extend a hand and help him up but expectations keep me cold and inhuman. Keep up appearances. What if you were spotted being kind? What if we were spotted at all? Fuck, why didn't i just kill him? I pull a ziptie from the side pocket of my pack and secure his hands behind his back before giving him a shove forward towards the treeline. Everything is calm and quiet except for my mind. What if a civilian saw us? I might be able to pawn him off on them and they can do whatever vengeance driven thing they want with him. It would be out of my hands. Clear conscious, right? What if another cultist saw us? I’d have to kill them all i suppose. Easier said then done. Gun aimed at his back, he cant see my bloodstained hands or how they shake. 

Everytime he looks off to the side I give a disappointed tsking sound with my tongue to keep his focus on the task at hand. What am I doing? I’ve never taken a prisoner. I’m not equipped to deal with this. Theres no information from him that I want. I don't know where Eli is so I cant hand him over for questioning. But then, they’d just kill him at the end. Is that for the best? One less Peggy in the world.

“Stop,” My voice is stern and leaves no room for question. I’m the Deputy. Everyone knows what I’m capable of. What I was capable of. He turns. We stare at each other, my blank unfeeling mask and his raw hate. 

He spits at me, “You’re the bitch who killed Faith.”

“Yeah, I am.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair down to the back of my neck where i try to rub the frustration away. “I need your help.”

“How dare you? How fucking dare you? I won’t betray the Father.”

Branches snap and an echo of voices from the road travels up the hill. They’re patrolling. He hears it too. There’s just a second to react as he opens his mouth to yell out. One of my hands closes around his neck, pinning him to the tree while the other pulls my pistol and shoves it into his mouth. 

“You won’t make a single god damn sound, understand? You know me. I could blow the back of your head out and snipe every one of those Peggie’s before they even make it to your body.”

My quick shift to violence surprises even me. Is it an empty threat? Could I still do that? If I was pushed, maybe. If i just let go. Let my ‘true nature’ out to play. If I prove John right. They’ve almost moved on. The Peggy’s heavy panicked breaths around the barrel of my gun make me have to strain to hear the patrol as they get further down the road, “Stay quiet and everyone lives.”

The patrol moves on and I let out a breath I had been holding. One clusterfuck avoided, now I just need to figure out why I bothered to put myself in this situation. “I’m gonna take this out. I want you to close your mouth and sit your ass down right where you are so you can compose yourself. You understand?”

Tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes. He doesn't get that i’m doing him a favor. Would he rather be dead? I take my gun back and he collapses to his knees, “Joseph help me.”

My heart sinks. This is the kind of fear people associate with me. No, not people. Peggies. Murderous cultists. The resistance loves me. They support me. I protect them. I’m doing the right thing. I sit down next to my prisoner and can feel him eyeing me.

“What are you…”

I put my hands up to interrupt him, “I don’t know why I took you, so just don’t ask ok?”

Silence. I normally enjoy it but now it’s just unnerving, “You know I haven’t killed anyone in almost two days?”

“You’ll still put a gun in someone’s mouth.”

“Are you dead?”

“You… Were you bluffing?”

I shrug and put my gun away, “I don't know. Maybe?” 

He laughs, dark and cynical, “Who knew the devil would take a rest?”

“Sweet Lord in heaven, what did you do?”

He finally saw them, the cuts on my wrists. I turn my hands over and stare blankly at the self inflicted wounds. The blood had dried since last night but the skin was still split away from itself. It wasn’t straight or pretty, they’re ugly and jagged, done at the peak of hysterics. Diagonal slices bitten into my skin with dull throwing knives. 

I look at him. Harsh lines of confusion crease his brow. “Did you ever meet Faith?”

“Only a few times. I’m a soldier, I’m strong, Jacob chose me to be one of his warriors.”

“What was she like?”

“She was wonderful. Full of love and life. She wanted the best for everyone. To share her happiness with the world.”

I could understand that. The way her words floated through the air. The way she sat with me in the field of flowers and talked to me. She had me at her complete mercy and chose to talk with me to get me to understand rather than kill me or drag me to a cell or turn me into an angel. She believed so fully that I would make the right decision. She didn't understand why I kept fighting after every meeting. To be honest, I didn't understand either. I still don't. Maybe because I was alone? Such brief moments with her and even shorter with Joseph. But then, the killing. The mixed messages. Seeing inside Mercy. The angels. What she did to everyone I cared about. “Did she ever lie to you?”

“Never. If Faith was anything, she was honest. She would listen and never made you feel weak. If something would be difficult she’d tell you. She said it would all be worth it, and it is.”

I pop the cap off the sharpie I carry to mark my maps and rip one of the mostly blank pages out of The Book of Joseph. The cultist tugs against the zip ties at my desecration of the book but I ignore him, “it’s all I got.”

It’s a simple message. No room for error. No miscommunication. My hand on his shoulder leans him forward so I can slice the makeshift cuffs. He rubs his wrists and I hand him the folded paper, “You can read it if you want. I don't care anymore.”

“No, this is for the eyes of The Father.” He pockets the note, “You can come with me, sister. I’ll take you to him. You can stand in his glorious presence.”

“And be tied up and tortured? I’ve been to Misery. I’ve been inside John’s bunker. I can’t do it.”

I let him get up and brush himself off. He's still twitchy, waiting for the boot to fall and to get a bullet somewhere. It makes me laugh at the absurdity. How far I have come. Or how far have I fallen?

"It was never suppose to get so bad, ya know?" He stops and looks at me, listening to my rambling, "I'm just a rookie. I was only picked to come along because I've got EMT training and we were told there would be people who needed medical attention. I was only here to help.”

He points to the Book of Joseph sitting in the dirt beside me, "Read that. You want to confess, but I ain't the one who can give you forgiveness. You fight it but in the end, your soul knows it needs salvation."

“I’ll pass,” We regard each other in silence, nothing but trees and the wind. 

Theres no exchange of smiles of mutual understanding. He just turns and walks away calling back over his shoulder, “I’m praying for you.”

“Don't.”


	2. Under the Bridge

After Joseph’s speech about Faith’s death, there were short sermons broadcasted every now and then on the Peggy frequency. I listened to every one of them from my new hiding place underneath a bridge that connected the Henbane and Jacob’s region. It wasn't luxury, it was hardly shelter, but it was a reprieve from the caravans, planes, helicopters, and patrols. All I had to do was switch my radio away from the Resistance and listen to the water rush over the rocks. And hear the nearby couple argue about money and fishing and joining or fighting the cult, but that didn't matter too much. They don’t know I’m here and if they do they pretended not to. Maybe they thought I was with Eden’s Gate. I did leave their transmissions running while I fished up my next meal. They never asked for anything. It was simpler. 

But I still can’t sleep. 

The sun is rising, casting a golden glow across Cleggett Bay. The bandages around my wrists are dirty again. I’ve been telling myself it’s just dirt and mud. Filth shows really well on white bandages. It’s nothing serious. Lying to myself only works for so long and I can’t ignore the ripping pain as dried pus peels off the oozing and inflamed cuts. I hadn’t bothered looking for medkits seeing as how they were mostly found around outposts. Just ignore it and take care of the wounds as I can. I splash the stream water onto them and scrub, dunking the bandages in next to get the infection out of the fabric. The water is cool and refreshing as I splash my face and rub exhaustion from my eyes. 

Laughter. Soft and light, like soft clouds. So relaxing. All the tension just drifting away. Floating down the stream like leaves. Cool beads of water roll down my face, down my neck. The river rocks under my hands are cold and smooth. Everything is so sharp. I’m so much more aware all of a sudden. What? What is going on?

“I’m glad you came.”

It all comes rushing forward, knocking me backwards out of the stream that I had apparently been crawling into. Standing in the water just a few feet from me is Faith. How did she find me? How is she here? I stopped her, I’m out of the Henbane. Her laugh and smile contrasts wildly with her appearance. Cut up, bloody, bullet holes in her once bright white dress. 

“It was always going to end this way,” her last words, heavy with acceptance.

“You hurt them!” I scream at the ghost, staggering to my feet and drawing my pistol, “You hurt everyone! You were never going to stop! You’re a liar!” 

A fired bullet ricochets off the rocks on the other side of the creek. 

“I did what I had to do!” 

Another shot, another ricochet. 

“You’re not better than me!”

The figure dances and twirls in the water. 

“Leave me alone! Please! I was angry, I was only following orders! Please!”

She’s humming now. That same haunting melody I always heard in the bliss. Green fog licks at my feet and dots of light prick at my peripherals. Bliss… this was bliss. Someone upstream had drugged the water and dosed me. It takes a few panicked moments and even more thrown rocks to get the image to dissipate. I sit there, catching my breath, and watch the sun rise to the tune of “Oh John”.

There would be a morning sermon starting soon. I dont care for their crazy, bible-thumping, god bullshit but this one I want to listen to. I need to hear it. This morning they’re burying Faith. I considered going. It wasn't a matter of solidarity or paying respects. I just want closure. I want to see her buried so maybe the images wouldn’t haunt me so badly. Maybe I’d stop seeing her whenever I accidentally pass a barrel of bliss. It wouldnt be hard. Kill a Peggy and take the clothes as a disguise. I look at my pack, the AR laying innocently next to it. Maybe it would be a hard thing to do. I still havent killed anyone since the bunker.

Joseph was giving the sermon, of course. I don't listen to any of the other brothers. What I had heard from Jacob made me twitchy and John… I just can’t handle John. His baptisms and confessions. He called me out on my ‘sin’ and my violence. I had all of the Henbane River territory to think about his words. Thinking of all the ways to prove him wrong while I proved him right. Every echo of a gunshot and every explosion that set a ringing in my ears might as well have been his laughter. I get lost watching the water. Maybe I should just take a boat out into the lake and fall in. I’m the single person with the highest body count in the county. Higher than any one person in the cult. John may get enjoyment out of hurting and killing, but he’s not out everyday mowing down people. Then again, neither am I. Not anymore.

Joseph talked about how important Faith was and how much she accomplished for “the good of the project”. Despite the message he was sending, I listen. It’s easy to get lost in his voice. The way it floats through the air calms me down. Solid, yet soothing and passionate. The guilt was creeping in again. He cared about Faith. He loved her in his own way. More than just a tool or a means to an end. There was a pain in his voice that I heard the first time he sent out a transmission after they found her body. The way he called her My Faith. His speech ended and chosen across the county start chiming in over the radio to show their support.

“Faith in the Father.”

“Praise the Father.”

“We have Faith!”

“For the Father.”

“For Eden’s Gate.”

I pick up the radio and bite my lip. Maybe, if I say something now, it would help ease my conscious. Settle my own pain. No one has to know. Just another Eden’s Gate fanatic saying something over the radio.

I hold down the button, “I’m so sorry, Joseph.”

My voice cracks at his name and I lift off the button before falling into hysterics. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Tears are wild and uncontrollable. My body curls in on itself, arms tight around my body and forehead pressed to the ground, “I’m so fucking stupid.”

It doesn't matter that im alone in the woods with my sorrow. I shouldn't be this way. It shouldn’t affect me this much, rendering me to be crying in the fetal position under a bridge.

“My child...”

The radio tumbles from her hands as she quickly brings them to her chest as if she had just been bitten. He heard it. Not even that, he knew. He had barely ever heard me speak. What if he’s not the only one who recognized my voice? What if Dutch or Jerome had been listening? I shake that thought away. The odds that anyone from the resistance who have even heard me talk was listening was so slim. 

What if John heard?

There’s none of the anger from his first broadcast. No threat of making those responsible pay. He sounded concerned. Silence is thick in the air and I squirm as it crawls across my skin. I can almost see him sitting next to his radio.

“We all suffer from this loss in one way or another.” Joseph begins, “Some of us lost a sister. Some lost a teacher or a friend. Some lost a part of themselves. Faith may be gone, but her spirit and her words will be carried with us. Let the lessons she offered lift our hearts and our minds, not weigh on our shoulders. No one needs to suffer alone in silence. No matter what has been done, those who ask forgiveness will be welcome in our new Eden. Those who reach out will be met with peace.”

There it was. The offering. Joseph was extending a hand. The sigh that escapes my lungs is heavy with longing. It sounds so peaceful. A way out. A place to rest my head for at least a moment where I don’t have to worry about barely surviving or getting shot at. It’s all I want. I want it more than life. Logic pricks at the rational side of my mind. What would the cost be? That was easy. It would be John. It would be John and me, in that bunker, as he made good on his promise to make me confess. There was a difference between saying yes to Joseph and having ‘yes’ torn out of me by John. I stay sitting on the ground, hugging my knees to my chest, leaving the radio where it fell arms length away from me. I want it so badly. It’s always a trap. Always a lie.

Liar.

Manipulator.

The radio silence is painful. I know he’s out there, somewhere, waiting for a response that will never come. He finally breaks it, his voice stronger as he recites scripture, “I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out, for there is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.”


	3. Welcome to Hell

I had to relocate the day after I spoke to Joseph. I knew backlash was coming, but the sheer number of peggies Jacob seemed to pull from nowhere was frightening. The brothers must have put a call out for anyone left in the Henbane to spread into the more secure regions. There were even angels. I guess the note never reached Joseph, or he just didn’t give a shit. 

Surveying a roadblock from the trees, it didn't take a genius to tell that Jacob’s men didn’t like being around the braindead bliss-zombies or their handlers. Why all the attention? Why couldn’t they leave me alone? I stopped causing trouble, stopped killing, just about stopped eating. I’m just a ghost, and damn, do I feel like it. There are still muscles on me where it matters but my ribs are getting more and more prominent. I hardly recognize myself when I see my reflection. Dull eyes and sunken in cheeks. If Nick or Sharky saw me like this, there would be hell.

Trees are always the best cover but the close calls are only getting closer and riskier. Jacob’s hunters are well trained. They prowl the forests looking for any locals who are still hiding. I’ve stumbled upon a few groups, huddled together in abandoned houses or drainage pipes. Pointing them the direction of the Prison is the only advice I can give. It doesn't matter if they want to make a stand or go home, it’s the only secure place. It's a sanctuary and the more people I can send there, the more reinforced they’ll be. They’ll have strength in numbers. They won't need me. 

I don’t want to kill, but the deeper into the whitetails I get, the more likely it seems that I’m going to have to. And I would. The bliss has been fading out of my system and I finally feel more in my own head. Memories of Faith and John still fill the quiet hours but without the hallucinations they didn’t have the kind of control that they use to. I’ve even found some enjoyment in just standing in the woods and breathing the clear air. I’ve been fast to draw my gun but I still can’t shoot. There’s no shaking as I stare down the sights. Slowly, ever so slowly, I’m feeling human again. I’m feeling like a Deputy.

It took time hiking deep off the path before I made it to the spot I had circled on my map. I expected a peggy or two, maybe a small resistance from what I had heard described, but arriving at the Elliot residence was another surprise to add to my growing list. FIGHT THE CULT had been painted across the outside of the second story and they had most definitely fought. From the looks of it, he held out for a while. This might have been the last real hold-out to fall to Jacob. There were sandbags and machine guns, barbed wire ran across the roof, and bodies. All the bodies of cultists this guy had taken down. It was impressive. The smile feels foreign in my cheeks. I hadn’t smiled in a while.

There were still keys in both white pickups that had pulled up to the house. A paper sat on the first wall of sandbags. Orders from Jacob that had just barely been delivered by the look of the dead cultist next to it.

...BE SURE TO CHECK THE BUNKER…

A bunker? Where? There's a shed off to the left of the house. That’s gotta be it. Most entrances have been in sheds or garages. I navigate around the battlefield and around to the shed door. There it is. A key pad attached to a big metal door that stands between me and my goal. The metal is cool to touch as I lean against it and laugh, staring at the red light on the keypad. A fucking bunker. One of the only pleasures in life anymore. It was exciting. I’d broken into so many and there was a literal horde of things back at 8-Bit Pizza. Maybe I could just stay here. Despite the bodies of both the cultists and the Elliots, it was a pretty secured location and I’m not as alone at 8-Bit as I’d like to be. It could be quiet here and more comfortable than living under a bridge. I could hide out in my own little bunker with my little collected trinkets; drinking beer, smoking some of that sweet oregano, and reading those comics that I’ve become attached to while collecting them. Nadine didn’t really need them back, did she? I could sit there, lock the doors, and forget the world. But I’d need a keycard first.

I drop the heavier stuff next to the entrance, along with food, drink, comics and lighters, and The Book of Joseph I stole from the top of the statue. I stare at it, innocently laying front and center of my possessions. It doesn't look right, large and imposing with expensive leather and gold, filled with handwritten words people have died and killed over. It’s unnerving. I pick it up and stuff it underneath the rest of my swag. Out of sight out of mind.

Still in mind… I should have burned it. Instead, I lit a decoy and tucked the large bound tomb away in my bag. That was the last straw for Faith. She promised no pity.

That stupid book. Its a poison that seeps into everything it touches. I’m suppose to be the hero. The whole point of this mission is to kill Joseph Seed and I’m out here carrying around his most valuable writings. It was more than that, though. I had skimmed pages randomly out of boredom, but it was the loose papers that rested between the pages. Letters and notes and confessions from Rachel and past Faiths. Evidence and reminders. I meant to give a few of them to Tracy when everything was over, but after Virgil I just wanted to burn them all.

Virgil.

Burke.

My teeth clench together and for a moment I wish I could do it all over again. Cut down every god damn piece of shit peggy in the Henbane. Put a shotgun to Faith’s fucking head before she could say anything. Before she could scream about how it wasn't her fault. It was. She was a stupid stupid child.

But she had just been a child. He had gotten to her young, fed her bliss and warped her mind. He probably talked to her the same way he talked to me. No wonder she fell. It’s so much easier to give in than to run away. Have his words stuck in your head and making you question every fucking aspect of your life.

I slam my fists into the shed’s wooden door, “Fuck.”

I hit it again and again. I should stop, but the tension in my muscles begs for a release through the sharp pain and into the dangerous numbness that comes after. 

It’s not helping, “FUCK!”

Frustrated, i rip my side arm from its holster and empty a clip into the door, wanting so desperately to destroy it or make it hurt. But it’s just a door. A stupid fucking door. I stalk towards it and brace my hands on either side as I raise my foot and slam it forward. It caves in, covering the bunker door and my stuff with bits of busted wood.

The echo of the gunshots fades as I lean in the shed’s doorframe to catch my breath. A snapping branch from the woods behind me sends me reloading my gun and crouching on the other side of the line of sandbags. Stealing a glance, I catch movement in the woods. A damn scout. A red flare flies into the sky. They’ll be here soon. I need cover. I need to be able to defend myself. After the fit I threw with the door, the shed isn’t the best option for me. I could get to a turret. It’s a fifty/fifty shot that they’d roll up to the side of the house I take post at. Then there’s the house. It’s pretty secure with lots of vantage points. 

That’s all the convincing I need. Gun in hand, I dart into the house, over bodies and up the stairs to Elliot’s lookout. It’s stocked to the teeth with ammo and explosives. The perfect spot. 

The radio left on the windowsill crackles to life as a signal reaches it, “I’ve been getting reports on you.”

Jacob. His voice drives into me like ice. How did he already get word? The flare just launched. Was he waiting?

“Had heard you made your way North after what you did at the Henbane. After what you did to Faith. You even gave John the run around. Did you think I’d let you just walk into these mountains? If it were up to me you'd have been dead a long time ago, the way you run around playing soldier and ruffling feathers, but the fun is over and you have my attention.”

I stare at the radio. Fear screams to run, just make a mad dash from the house and get back to the bridge. I hesitate, eyes coming to focus on the stash of ammunition left behind on the window sill. Feelings come rushing back. The adrenaline and excitement. The way I’d laugh with satisfaction pressing the detonator. How my eyes would darken as a Molotov hit a group of Peggie’s. I could do it.

Brakes screech outside and I load my guns, taking inventory of the explosives. If I have to blast my way out, so be it. I’m good at it. I warned them. I had torn John’s valley to shreds and burned Faith’s entire bunker to the ground single handedly. If Jacob wanted to see what I am capable of, then I’ll show him. The dark smile that creeps across my features feels foreign. It sends pleasant shivers across my skin. Intoxicating and addictive. The trigger teases me to fire.

“Welcome to hell.”


End file.
